


Of Odd Behaviour and Heroism

by LadyTea



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-11
Updated: 2014-08-11
Packaged: 2018-02-12 16:50:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2117454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyTea/pseuds/LadyTea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's just not worth angering Russia some days... or is it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Odd Behaviour and Heroism

**Author's Note:**

> Note human names are used briefly in this fic.

It was another world meeting in England, and the nations were behaving as per usual: among the usual noise of people chatting was France, who was attempting to molest everyone within reach at least once, ensuing in much yelling and choruses of "Ohonhonhon!" Switzerland was there as well, and threatening to beat on everyone with his peace prize if they didn't all stop talking. Sealand was waiting patiently for an opportunity to present itself for him to ask to become his own country (and promptly forgetting a moment later when Latvia sat down beside him), and poor Canada sat in his chair with Kumajiro the bear, ignored by everyone else. Of course, his brother America was there too, but unlike his timid brother the American was standing on his chair, trying to take control of the meeting.

"Hey, dudes!" he yelled over the din. "Listen to my great and heroic voice and shut the hell up so Germany can start the meeting!"

Said blond European nation was standing at the foot of the table, papers in hand. Beside him were the Italy brothers, one of whom was singing a song about pasta, the other muttering something about potato. Germany sighed. He wished he could just get this over with. His blue eyes scanned the crowd of nations, stopping on Russia. The soviet nation had taken great care to make sure that his older sister, Ukraine, was in between him and their younger sister, Belarus, for Belarus had been acting very oddly lately. She wasn't as clingy (which was good for Russia), but she seemed distracted and lost in her own thoughts much of the time (which could potentially be bad). Russia sure hoped that she wasn't planning war, or worse.

Whatever the case was, Russia found he had more pressing issues at the moment: the noise of every nation talking at once was giving him a terrible headache. Fortunately, all he had to do was smile and the silence was instantaneous.

Germany went to take advantage of this. He cleared his throat and drew breath to speak but was interrupted once more, by the sound of a stapler and a short gasp of pain, followed by America yelling.

"Have no fear!" the American yelled as he clapped his right hand on the table and vaulted over it, landing neatly in the empty chair beside Belarus. "A hero is here!"

At the same time, Russia leaned past Ukraine to check on his little sister. "You are okay, da?"

"I am fine, Ivan," Belarus said icily, using her brother's human name, "I merely stapled my finger by accident."

Russia stood up. "Let me help you get it out."

"No," Belarus snapped, "I can do it myself."

At the same time, America cried, "No way, josé, I'm the hero this time!" He failed to notice that it was Russia to whom he was speaking.

Even though she scared him, Russia didn't like that Belarus would not accept his help, and he disliked even more the fact that America, of all people, just had to stick his big ego into it. Out of defense for his sister and contempt for the nation, Russia brought back his fist and socked America in the nose.

America cried out in shock and pain and toppled backward off the chair; his glasses slipped off his face and into his lap, and he landed hard right on top of Canada. The timid nation jumped slightly when his brother fell in his lap, but quickly chimed in with a concerned, "Al, are you okay?"

"Oh, hey, Mattie," America's voice cracked as he addressed his brother by his nickname, "I-"

And then his nose started to bleed.

"Al, your nose is broken!" Canada gasped.

America gingerly touched the bridge of his nose: he winced as waves of pain radiated from it. To make matters worse, a sharp metallic taste filled his mouth as his blood ran down the back of his throat. Leaning forward, he brought up his hands and his blood pooled in them. In this odd, hunched over position, he scuttled out the door, England and Canada close behind, with the latter carrying his brother's glasses.

Meanwhile, Russia was back in his chair, rather pleased with himself. Many of the nations were staring at him in complete awe and terror. Not a single one of them noticed Belarus quickly remove the staple from her finger and follow Canada out the door.

* * *

The three boys sitting in the middle of the emergency room of an English hospital did not draw much attention, for which America was grateful. The last thing he needed was for someone to recognize him in such an unheroic state: sitting humbled in a chair, glasses sitting lopsidedly on his face, with bloodstained hands holding a bag of ice to his nose. On either side of him, Canada and England sat patiently, keeping him company until the doctor was ready to see him.

After a long while, England yawned and stretched his arms behind his head. "I could really use some tea right about now," he said, rubbing his green eyes. "I'm going to go find the cafeteria." He stood up. "Cana-" _Whoops._ He caught himself just in time. "Er… Matthew, would you like anything?"

Canada stood now as well. "Here," he said, "I'll just come with you." Turning back, he said to America, "You'll be okay here by yourself, eh, Alfred?"

America simply nodded. With a quick wave, Canada and England left.

As the door to the main part of the building swung shut behind the pair, Belarus moved from her hidden position several rows of chairs away over to the chair that Canada had just recently vacated. When she sat, her dress flared out slightly and the glint of a silver knife sparked from beneath the folds of the material.

America saw the girl arrive out of the corner of his eye and jumped several inches away when she sat down. "Natalia! What are you doing here?"

Belarus didn't answer. Instead, she grabbed America's chin with her hand and twisted his face so she could look at it, her long nails digging into the soft flesh of his cheeks. Her deep blue eyes narrowed.

"Hmph. Ivan really did break your nose. It is crooked."

America shifted uncomfortably. "Could you let go?" he squeaked out. "People are staring."

Belarus' head snapped around, blond hair whipping America in the face, and glared at anyone who dared to meet her eyes. Eventually she also let go of America.

They sat in awkward silence for what seemed like years. America absently looked around and allowed his mind to wander. The one thing puzzling him, though, was why Belarus, of all people, had come to see him. He could think of no explanation that made any sort of sense. Glancing sidelong at the girl, he thought outside the box; however, before he could come to a conclusion, Belarus spoke.

"Does it hurt?"

America looked right at her now. "What?"

She met his gaze, and America was shocked to see that the usual ice in her eyes had all but melted completely away. It was with sincerity that she spoke again: "Your nose. Does it hurt?"

"Um…" America had no idea how to react to that, and forced himself to drop his gaze. He shrugged. "No, not really. The ice helps."

Belarus didn't respond, and the pair descended into silence once again. America switched the ice bag over to his left hand, allowing the right one to drop to his side. It touched Belarus' hand; she stiffened.

America started to pull his hand away. "Sorry," he mumbled. Then Belarus did the most surprising thing of all.

She grabbed his hand.

America gasped; he couldn't believe it. He swung his head to look at Belarus, but she would not meet his eyes, instead staring at the floor as if she, too, couldn't believe what she had done. Eventually, America relaxed back against his chair, and the atmosphere turned companionable.

After a long while, Belarus let go of America's hand and stood up. "I should go," she said, purposely facing away from the man. "Ivan will have noticed by now that I have left him." She made to leave.

A single word stopped her. "Wait."

She turned back to America, who was watching her intently. "Why did you come here in the first place?"

Belarus was quiet for a minute, thinking of how to respond. Then, rather than with words, she took two steps to end up right in front of America; she squatted down, pushed his bangs up with one hand and placed the other on the back of his head, and kissed his forehead firmly. Having done that, she spun on her heel and marched out of the ER before America could get his bearings and come to terms with what had just occurred.

Right then, England and Canada returned, but before they could rejoin America and get caught up, a young brunette nurse with a clipboard appeared from behind a closed door.

"Alfred F. Jones? The doctor will see you now."

* * *

Several weeks later, the whole ordeal had nearly been completely forgotten by everyone involved. America's nose was straight as an arrow once more, and no one who looked at him could tell it had ever been broken, much to his pleasure. Everything was pretty well back to normal.

And then it was time for the next world meeting.

The following conference was not much more than a recap of what had been said and done at the previous one, and so not every nation was required to attend. Present there were America, Canada, England, and Belarus, who had all missed some portion of the last meeting, Germany, who had headed the last meeting, and Russia, because nobody wanted to be the one to tell him he wasn't allowed to come. Once again, Germany was up at the head of the table, rattling off his major points from the last meeting, while everyone else sat in bemused silence.

Far down the table, away from most everyone, was America. He lounged lazily in his chair, feet up on the table, arms folded across his chest, and half asleep. He had been unwillingly reminded by England of what had happened at the last meeting when he had stuck his foot in his mouth, so this time he'd promised himself he would make an extra effort to remain subdued. So far, everything was going well, but Germany's rambling was boring him. He felt drowsy and, heavy-lidded, began to drift off to sleep…

Something soft brushed against his face.

America jerked awake, just barely managing to remain in his chair. He whipped his head around; he saw, to his confusion, that what had tickled him was someone's long, blond hair, and that could only belong to one person: Belarus. Sure enough, it was her, her icy eyes boring into his as she stood over him.

America must have looked scared, because Belarus scowled at him and whispered, "What is that ridiculous expression for, stupid American?"

"What're you all up in my face f-"

The man was cut off when Belarus pressed her hand over his mouth. "Shhh!" she hissed. "Ivan will hear you."

America looked down the table. He saw that Germany had stopped going on about his five points and was now arguing with Russia about what seemed to be alcohol. Snippets of their conversation could be heard; America caught "beer," "vodka," and "not even if it was the last drink left on earth." Neither of them were paying attention to the pair down at the other end.

America lightly grasped Belarus' wrist and moved her hand away so he could speak. "What are you doing?" he demanded in a softer tone.

Belarus glared at him, as if she was trying to bore holes through his head. "Trying to keep you quiet so Ivan doesn't try to kill you again."

"Why do you care?" America fired back.

"Shhhh!" Belarus snarled, and then she dropped her gaze right to the floor and sat in the nearest chair with a huff.

America's head was spinning. Belarus' odd behaviour had him on edge, and to make matters worse the fact that Russia could look over at any second and see him within three feet of his sister was enough to set the American's heart off thundering at an unbearable pace. He'd had an angry Russia on his tail once before; he did not want that again.

In an attempt to calm his nerves, America looked back over at Russia to make sure he was still distracted. He was; the Soviet nation was still in heated argument with Germany, though they had moved on to a new topic. It seemed to be something along the lines of the difference between "da" and "ja."

Satisfied that he had at least a few more minutes before being potentially annihilated by nuclear warfare, America proceeded to try and work out a reason for Belarus' odd behaviour. Several different scenarios ran through his mind, but only one seemed really plausible. Unfortunately it was also the one he was most desperately hoping turned out to be untrue. He felt he should ask Belarus to check and see, but he didn't know what he'd do if he turned out to be right…nor did he fancy putting up with Russia if _he_ found out.

It was worth a shot. In her blue dress and her long hair with the white bow, Belarus was a fairly attractive girl. There was the fact that she had a tendency to be rather terrifying, but she seemed to be outgrowing that. Even now, as America openly watched her, she kept her eyes fixed on her tightly folded hands in her lap, rather than trying to out glare him, nor did she produce a knife to threaten him, or worse, call over Russia.

_She's doing the exact opposite of that,_ America thought. _She specifically does not want Russia to see us over here. Could that mean…?_

America took a deep breath. Russia was still distracted; it was now or never. He had to know.

"Belarus…"

She didn't respond, nor did she show any indication of even having heard her name.

"Hey…" America tried again, just as softly as before, but this time leaned closer to the girl.

Once again, there was no verbal response, but this time Belarus stiffened slightly. Barely imperceptible, but it was exactly the reaction America needed to boost his confidence.

Boldly, America draped his arm around Belarus' shoulders and ran his thumb along her collarbone. He felt her go absolutely rigid when he touched her, and he smiled. _This is way too fun,_ he thought, and it shocked him.

"Belarus," America said sweetly into her ear, "I have a question for you."

Belarus growled. "Don't touch me, dirty American!"

"If you really don't want me to touch you," America challenged, "then take my arm yourself and move it!"

No response.

_Knew it._

"So, then," America continued, enjoying having the upper hand, "on to my question."

"Don't," Belarus interrupted.

"Huh?" America faltered. "Why not?"

"Because…because I already know what you are going to ask."

_Uh oh._ America could feel the advantage slipping away from him. _This could be bad. I can't let her get on the offensive, it's mine to play!_

"Well, if you know what I was going to ask," America began, "then what was going to be your answer?"

Silence.

_Hah! Gotcha._

And then suddenly, without warning, Belarus threw herself at America and kissed him full on. The man was completely taken aback; this hadn't been expected at all. But, as his eyes began to flutter shut and he leaned into the kiss, America felt a tug at his hair and he thought, _maybe I could learn to put up with Russia, after all._


End file.
